A Black Parade of Blood
by StrangeSlashficiton
Summary: A mere 4 days before the release of the flagship album, Black Parade, the band come to be part of a large conspiracy, threatening all of the alternative rock sub genre.
1. Chapter 1

It was a rainy day, in New Jersey. Gerard way sat in his old, cramped bedroom, STILL attempting to learn Sweet Home Alabama on the guitar. His fingers plucked at the strings, and frazzled, confused sounding notes resonated, giving off an uneasy feeling. He sighed, and put away the old instrument under his single bed. October 19th, 2006 read the calendar on the wall. In a mere 4 days, the bands third album would be released to the public, and it made him anxious.

"Knock, knock." came a grizzled voice from the door. there he stood, wearing his flagship black eyeliner and bright red eyeshadow. It was his trusted band mate, and friend, Frank Iero.

"Oh...hey dude." came Gerards voice quietly. He couldn't quell his overwhelming feelings about the album release.

"Everyone's looking for you, man. We have a party to go to, remember?"

He'd nearly forgotten about it, the release party. Everyone must've been waiting for him.

"Shit, what time is it?"

"6:56," Frank clicked his tongue in his mouth, "On the dot."

Gerard nearly flew off of the bed, grasping for his car keys and wallet, "doesn't it start at 7:30? In New York?"

"Yeah," Frank responded cooly, with no hint of hesitation in his deep voice, "It's at Angels, ya know, Pete's club?"

Gerard stubbed his toe has he tried to hurry out of the room "Fuck!"

Frank Iero grabbed him and pulled him close. "If you insist... nicely." He licked his lips and pressed a damp kiss on the back of Gerard's neck, and suckled at the skin before Gerard managed to pull him off.

"You can't do that. Not here. Not anywhere people could see us. We have to be a secret."

The group's popularity mostly reflected the sexual pre teen angst of young girls just discovering black lipstick and their mom's playboy perfume, and the tabloids calling them devil worshippers. Gay as well? Not to be discussed. not here, or there, or anywhere.

"Fine, whatever," Frank pulled away, seemingly hurt and sulked for a second before regaining his usual composure. "We better go to Pete's now, we wouldn't want to be late for our own Black Parade release party, would we?"


	2. Chapter 2

Angels and Kings was as intimidating as it's name sounded, and to Gerard, it was VERY intimidating.  
The Club was decked out in black, black, black. Lighting was golden and black, outfits were golden and black, a cake even at atop a decorated gold and black pedestal. Gerard looked down at his clothes. A red and black flannel, black boots and nearly ripped jeans that were being held together just by the seams. He looked simple and daft, compared to the ballroom elegance of Pete Wentz' nightclub. Pete Wentz himself was mingling around, introducing everyone, and rank stayed at an arm's distance, almost as if he was a watch-corgi for the Queen of England. The comparison made Gerard giggle quietly, as Frank was certainly the size to be portrayed as a corgi.

He couldn't believe just how many people had shown up. The entirety of Fall Out Boy was there, slinging shot after shot, laughing and singing randomized lyrics with impeccable harmonies. Gerard wondered if any of them had classical training in singing, because he certainly didn't. He owed everything to his grandma, his artistic abilities and performance abilities. Too bad he still couldn't play the guitar.

"Hey, hey, hey everybody!" Pete called to the crowd, "Look! It's My Chemical Romance!"

The crowd cheered, and then continued on with everything they had stopped. Gerard's anxiety was building. His palms were sweaty, knees weak, his arms felt like spaghetti. Frank began to give him a sensual back rub.

"Hey, quit being so tense. We're at a party for OUR album. You should be having fun!"

Gerard pushed him off, leaving the back rub unfinished, "I'm trying okay?"

Frank raised an eyebrow "I guess you could say that you're...not okay."

"Fuck off, and leave me alone. I'm getting drink." Gerard pushed through the heavy crowd, toward the bar where he'd drown the butterflies he had in pure tequila.

He spotted Brendon Urie drinking a Pina Colada, and checking his MySpace.

"Hey," said Gerard. He pulled up a barstool and signalled the attention of the bar keep. Brendon raised an eyebrow, and turned to focus his attention. Brendon was dressed in an outfit extremely reminiscent on 'I Write Sins Not Tragedies', complete with a top hat of top quality.

"Sulking at your own party? I would've killed for something like this when our album came out." he laughed playfully.

"I never ask for parties. Frank and Mikey are the ones who wanted this."

"What about Ray?"

Gerard slammed a shot. "He couldn't care either way."

Brendon laughed quietly to himself and continued to scroll. Gerard figured he wouldn't have gotten another word out, so he continued to drink. Music pounded in his skull, and resonated deep down in his gut. Was it the music? Or was it the multiple shots he'd drank to forget this was happening? One thing was for sure: he needed air.

It felt as if the room was closing in on him. Walls collapsing, heart racing. It was like claustrophobia, but extremely harrowing. His palms were drenched. He stumbled through the crowd, pushing people out of the way, until he reached the side exit, right into the alleyway.

And it all came up. It seemed like buckets and buckets of vomit, and once everything was gone, he leaned his body against the brick. The sound of a door opening distracted him.

"Are you okay?" Pete wentz stepped out from the shadows, offering his hand.

"No, I'm literally dying." retorted Gerard. He looked uneasily down at the puddle of vomit he'd spat up earlier.

"Here, let's get you somewhere safe. I'll walk you there."

That confused him, but he grabbed Wentz's arm and pushed nearly all his body weight onto him. Suddenly, he spun around, and nailed Gerard to the wall where he was previously positioned.

"I always want what I can't have." Fangs began to erupt from Pete's gums, reaching out, and Gerard began to frantically struggle. Pete Wentz was a vampire?


	3. Chapter 3

He held gerard against the wall, nearing his shapr fangs near his tender, pale flesh.

"You...can't do this! Please stop, you're hurting me!"

Pete chuckled, and lightly wiped one of Gerard's tears with his right thumb.

"Oh baby, you haven't even felt real pain yet."

It was horrible. Every second Pete's damp lips neared his jugular, he felt as if time grew slower, almost stopping. The anxiety flared in bursts, up and down, acceptance and denial.

 _'Is this really happening? Am I really going to be killed? By an actual vampire?"_

Vampires aren't real. Fangs aren't real. This WASN'T real. It was obviously a hallucination. Someone must've roofied his drink. Did LSD come in liquid form? Did someone try to fuck him up starting with his drink? Pete wanting him to have fun now made a lot more sense.

BAM. A loud noise filled the alleyway, echoing in his ears. Did someone get shot? Maybe, but the loud eruption barely resembled a gunshot. He started to turn his head, and saw a dark figure, a shadowed angel in the distance.

That's when the angel broke into a sprint.

Pete let go for a moment, and Gerard squeezed out of his grip, and fell to the wet and garage riddled pavement. He started to wiggle away, propping himself up against a stray trash can, and watched the scene unfold.

The angel was standing, horizontal to Pete, who was definitely on the defensive. They began to circle each other, and as he came closer to Gerard, he saw that the nagel was wearing black on black on motherfucking black. His face his was also covered either by an ornate mask or very creative and elaborate face paint, and his hair was hidden by a hood.

"So," cackled Pete Wentz "You've found me. Finally. I was starting to think that you were slowing down." he turned to Gerard and licked his lips. "You've just interrupted my meal."

The figure moved closer "Wow, you underestimated me buddy. I've been tracking you since March."

The figure lunged, and tackled Pete to the ground, and held a...weapon?

He then stabbed it right into Pete's heart.


End file.
